


Here's the Thing With Disappearing

by Jinmukang



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: Abduction, Aftermath of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Other batfam members are present but not tagged because they're not exactly the focus of the story, Wrote this on a whim, because I wanted to write Dick having a dad moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinmukang/pseuds/Jinmukang
Summary: Damian is the most headstrong kid Dick knows.Though, two weeks of torture can be known to change things.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 34
Kudos: 299





	Here's the Thing With Disappearing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unauthorized Understudy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16815559) by [FidotheFinch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidotheFinch/pseuds/FidotheFinch). 



> Title from Alive by Khalid
> 
> And it's at this moment the author realizes that the only amount of time passing that they know is two weeks. Once again, I have put a bat-child through hell but made it last two weeks. Maybe I should make a series called "two week torture sessions for bat boys" or something. I'm incredibly uncreative when it comes to naming things. 
> 
> I got the idea of this story after reading a different fic where Dami gets kidnapped and traumatized and I realized that there just isn't enough of that in this world, isn't there? So I decided to use my spite and put it towards writing a one-shot about it just to add my coin into this fountain-of-youth we've all been ignoring. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> **Note, I'm not a medical worker. I've never been in an ambulance or been around one besides the times I've had to pull over to the side of the road to watch one zoom by. If the process of ambulances are incorrect, don't @ me. I already know.**

It's dark. That's the first thing Nightwing notices. It's dark—pitch black even—and it _reeks_. The moment he opens the basement door, the smell of blood, human waste, and body odor hits his nose like Harley Quinn's hammer, almost making him physically step back to cover his nose. The light of the hallway is dim, doing nothing to illuminate the stairway down, and when he brushes his hands across the walls and doorway, all he finds is a broken light switch that just clicks pitifully when it's flicked. 

Dick grinds his jaw and forces himself to reach forward onto the railing on the wall as the sounds of gunshots and yelling sounds behind him; muffled from the walls of the house. Dick knows the battle will end soon, it's been an all-hands-on-deck situation for the past two weeks. Two weeks filled with Dick raiding every warehouse, abandoned apartment complex, and underground garage he could find. Two weeks of Bruce brooding over gargoyles and punching criminals until they're singing through the blood of their bit tongues. Two weeks of Jason punching walls, Tim not sleeping while working himself half-to-death at the computer, Barbara doing a bit of both. Two weeks of Cass doing her best to keep positive when it's clear how worried and tired she is, two weeks of Steph doing her best to keep morale up by shooting jokes and banter, but it's all beginning to fall flat. 

Two weeks of Alfred whispering prayers to himself.

Everyone is tight as Green Arrow's bow string. The small family of psychopaths and sadists that own this house don't stand a chance. 

Dick reaches towards his mask and quickly turns on the night vision in his mask; the world goes from an un-disrupted black to a sea of greens and shadows, showing vague outlines of stairs leading down and a sharp corner leading left. He goes down it, fighting to keep the nausea from reaching his throat as he emerses himself in the stench of torture. Of confinement. Of _imprisonment_. He's so close, he's _close_ and he can't stop now just because the air is wretched. He's been to places that's smelled worse. _He's_ smelled worse at some point or another. He can't stop now because it's been two weeks and he's just a stairway away from ending this.

It doesn't matter if the air is poisonous. As long… as long as he gets _him_ out of here, that's all that matters. 

It's been a long two weeks. 

He goes down the stairs one step at a time, and by the time he reaches the bottom the smell is ever horrible and the light is ever _gone_. He tries another light switch but it too flicks pitifully. He wonders if an electrical box or something has been hit during the fight currently commencing upstairs. No matter. He'll deal. He blinks at the green shapes surrounding him, forming a short hallway with three doors; one on the left, one on the right, one at the very end.

Dick swallows and heads to the closest door without a second thought. It's unlocked, and when he opens it all he finds is totes and boxes filled with various items that has his stomach churning. Knives, gallons of water, chains, he closes the door, only allowing himself a small glance because those things aren't… they _aren't_ important right now. He can't afford to let himself waste time looking at devices of torture when… when…

He opens the next door, and it's completely empty, nothing but abandoned chains hanging from eyehooks nailed into the cement walls, strange dark stains in the corners. Dick closes the door and turns to the next one at the end of the hall, now trying not to think about how these people are professionals and that _he_ isn't their first victim. Not even close to it. 

The door is locked and Dick's hands shake as he forces the lockpicks into the hole of the knob. His breath is coming out in heavy pants, and he can taste the foul odor of the air on every single one of his taste buds. It takes an agonizing few minutes to finally hear the tell-tale click that announces the door is now unlocked, and it's almost like he can't get his hands to move quick enough to get the door swinging open. 

The room looks exactly like the other one, large and empty and cold and stained, except when his eyes land in the far corner, his stomach drops. 

"Robin," he says, dropping any kind of caution he has to run towards the tiny figure curled into the corner of the room, legs to chest and between the knees. Worry clumps in his throat when he stops to kneel down besides him and there's no reaction. He reaches out, deciding that he needs to find a pulse before anything else or he might go insane.

The moment his hand touches Damian, Damian _l_ _ashes_.

"Leave me alone!" Damian snarls, but not as strongly as Dick would expect—in fact he sounds _scared_. "Enough!"

Dick quickly backs off, eyes wide as for the first time he really takes the sight of Damian in. He takes in the thick bands around his ankles, the bare feet, the lack of cape or tunic, his hands having not left from his back, the _collar_ chained to an eyehook in the wall, the miles of tape wrapped around the top of his head and ears. He takes in the bits of skin that look discolored and angry even in the limited shades of green of his night vision. He takes in the dark trail of liquid running over the tape and down his chin from somewhere in his hair. 

"Robin?" 

No response, Damian just curses and rambles out a string of almost unintelligible threats. 

"Shit," Dick swears and Damian scrambles back even further into his corner, hissing and spitting, but legs and arms too bound for him to properly defend himself even if he weren't blinded and possibly deafened. " _Shit_."

Damian huddles in his corner, curling into himself, muscles tensing and relaxing like a cornered leopard, but slowly his angry protests begin to wear off to just panicked breaths. Dick sits as still and as quietly as he can, trying to figure out how to go about this. How to let Damian know he's here to help him, not hurt him. He could scream his name and hope his words get through the tape and whatever else could be blocking his ears, but there's no promise of Damian actually hearing him, let alone trusting him. He could tap out a message in Morse code on Damian's arm, but that could just panic the boy more if the slightest touch sets him off. 

He could wait for one of the others and ask them to bring some sedative… but Damian looks so _scared_ and so _hurt_ in those binds and Dick really, truly doesn't want to force him to sit like this any longer, unaware that his family has finally found him. 

With thinning lips, Dick comes to terms with the fact that there's nothing he can do besides literally ripping the band-aid off. He needs to get a good enough grasp on Damian so the boy doesn't struggle too much so he can get a hold of the tape. It will probably terrify Damian, but at least when Dick gets the tape off him he'll be able to hear. Then, Dick can properly tell him he's here to help. He's safe. 

He takes a deep breath and reaches into one of his pouches to pull out a small, emergency flashlight. It's not the strongest, not that useful compared to his night vision in his mask, but it will make sure the first thing Damian sees after Dick gets the blindfold off isn't more darkness. He turns it on, and it messes with his vision for just a moment before the mask adjusts. 

He stands and approaches the boy, trying to figure out what will be the best angle. It's not fair that he has to panic Damian more, but he can't sit here and watch this any longer. 

Damian is unaware of his presence up until the point Dick grabs his shoulders as strongly yet gently as he can. Damian yowls and twists as much as he can in his binds, mouth open like he's considering screaming, but Dick manages to get his arm around his chest and his legs around the boy's hips so he can effectively pin Damian's legs. 

"Stop! Stop it!" Damian struggles and Dick tightens his arm around his chest, holding Damian still against him. "Stop! Just stop!"

He grunts as Damian throws his head back, just barely managing to bring his chin up so Damian hits his chest instead of his bony jaw. He doesn't want to injure Damian more. He begins to desperately tap out every comfort he can think of into Damian's arm with his restraining arm as his free one goes to find the end of the tape. The plastic material feels slick and grimy, and he wonders how long it's been on his baby brother. When the last time Damian saw or heard anything was. 

" _Stop_ ," Damian says again, his voice choking, making Dick want to sob, but he's found the edge of the tape, and he can't turn back now. "Stop p-please stop- I'm sorry- I'm _sorry_ -"

Damian seems completely unaware of the tapping on his arm, unaware that Dick is desperately trying to say _I'm here, you're safe, Dami it's me Dick, I love you, I found you, let me help you, I love you I love you I love you-_

He finally managed to pry the tape up, and it's all a matter or pulling off the material as painlessly as he can. As Damian's struggles turn into shaking, and his protests turn into just quiet sobs, it's easier. It's like he's given up, like he has no hope left. Dick hates that. He hates it so much, but he's finally getting to the last layer and it's all a matter of trying not to pull out hair or break possibly _very_ irritated skin.

Finally, he gets the tape off, and the first thing he notices is that Damian's eyes are squeezed shut, liquid gleaming on his eyelashes. There's no mask, which is worrisome, but doesn't matter right now. Dick quickly takes out the earplugs stuffed into Damian's ears, and immediately begins to verbalize his mantra of comfort and safety. 

"It's me: Dick," he says, and Damian goes rigid, his eyes flying open and his head turning behind him as Dick finally loosens his grip on him. "I'm here, baby bird, you're safe now."

"G-grayson?" Damian asks, voice soft. Quiet. Confused. Hopeful. Scared. It's too dark for the naked eye to see well, even with Dick's flashlight, so he verbalizes his affirmation and gently transfers his restraining hold into a hug as Damian practically goes limp against his chest. "You came?"

"Always," Dick says, pressing his nose into Damian's hair and breathing in his scent. He smells as bad as the basement, and he tries not to think if he smells like that because of the basement or if it's the other way around, so instead he pulls him closer and doesn't mention how Damian's shaking begins to renew, and the tears restart. "Of course I came."

"I'm sorry," Damian whispers, tone thick and heavy, cracking like a storm. "I'm sorry-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for-"

"I got caught- I was taught better- _you_ taught me better-"

"Dami-"

"I've failed a-and you-"

"Damian, stop that-"

"I don't deserve-"

Damian dissolves into sobs and Dick has to fight off his own tears from spilling, so instead he continues his _I love you_ 's and _I've found you_ 's as Damian continues to cry. Dick has never seen him like this, and it's the most he can do to not sit there in that corner for the rest of time, just holding the boy he thought he lost, but he has to check over Damian's physical condition and then _get him the fuck out of here_. 

Damian's like a ragdoll, head leaning onto Dick's chest like a kitten seeking attention, as Dick forces himself to release his hug so he can check the restraints. Damian flinches violently when Dick touches his neck, so he purses his lips and avoids that for the next few minutes to simply check the shackles and manacles. They're thick and strong, and his stomach drops when he feels the lack of seam and the realization hits that some of the stench in the air must be burnt flesh. They've wielded the cuffs on, and they must be _agonizing_ , but Damian seems too distressed to notice much besides his wrongful guilt. Dick looks back at the collar and the chain leading up. It wouldn't be too hard for him to unlock the padlock keeping the chain connected to the wall, he just has to force himself away from Damian and get it done… panic flares in his heart with that task. He doesn't… he doesn't think he can let go of Damian to save his life.

Thankfully, it's that moment another presence enters the room. Dick tenses for a moment as the door opens, but then he recognizes the smell of cigarettes ingrained in leather. Jason doesn't smoke, he quit years ago, but people who live in Crime Alley just smell like that. 

It's a comforting smell. One that Dick much prefers over blood, sweat, urine, feces, and burnt flesh. 

Jason doesn't say anything, just stands there, night vision must be turned on inside his helmet as well. However, Damian tenses, thin ~~starved~~ muscles bunching up to be harder than mahogany. 

"It's just Jay," Dick whispers into his hair, and Damian relaxes, returns to his now silent crying, leaning against Dick like it's all he knows. 

This is wrong. This is all so wrong. 

"There's a chain," Dick says Jason's way, keeping his voice calm and soft. 

"I see it," Jason replies, stepping into the room, footsteps curiously unsure. If this is wrong for Dick, he can only imagine what Jason thinks. What Tim will think. What any of them will think. Dick's seen Damian at his best and worst. Dick can confidently say he knows Damian better than anyone, even better than Jon or Bruce or especially Thalia. He's seen Damian cry, scream, sob. He's seen those brilliant green eyes turn to the color of the forest as he smiles, he's seen dimples as he laughs. He's seen red cheeks from wiping flowing tears too often. He's seen _Damian_. Raw. Vulnerable. _Damian_. 

Yet Dick's never seen _this_ before. Trauma. Terror. A deep agonizing pain that goes deeper than physical. 

Jason's seen just a few layers of their youngest brother. 

This must scare him more than it scares Dick. 

"Can you pick it?" Dick asks. 

"Course I can, who do you take me for? Dark can't stop me." 

Dick let's the corners of his mouth twitch in something like a promise of a smile, appreciating Jason's attempt to keep this normal. The last thing Damian needs is Jason freaking out over him.

Jason approaches, steps more sure, and carefully positions himself so he can reach the eyehook screwed into the wall. Damian tenses and his breath sharpens, but Jason just scoffs from above, the sound of clinking metal follows. "Relax, tater-tot. It's just me. No need to panic."

"'mnot panicking…" Damian mumbles and Dick smiles.

"You'll be out of here in a jiffy, Dami," he says and the clinking metal continues. "All your pets will be so excited to see you."

Damian doesn't respond and Dick leans his head forward to check his face. His eyes are half lidded staring off towards the dim flashlight Dick left on the ground. Dick sighs, gently cards a hand through his hair, and frowns when he feels a small goose-egg. He takes a deep breath and forces a smile into his voice. "I've missed you."

Damian hums, sounding tired. His awareness is flickering. They need to get him out. Yesterday. Two weeks ago. 

Jason gives a huff of victory as the chain becomes unlocked. He unwinds the chain from the wall and Damian lets out a small whimper as it jostles the collar. Dick quietly snaps at Jason to be careful with his neck, but focuses his attention back on Damian immediately after. "I'm going to pick you up, okay?"

"…Kay…"

Dick swallows and moves his arms so he's supporting his back as he winds another arm under his legs. Damian hisses as Dick lifts him up, but immediately curls into Dick's chest when Dick manages to stand up. He looks at Jason and the chain in his hands and bites his lip. The last thing he wants to do is keep that monstrosity around Damian's neck any longer, but Damian hasn't exactly shown any kind of willingness for something to even look at the direction of his neck, and Dick really would rather not traumatize him even more by forcing Dami to allow him to get his hands near his neck, something he's clearly very, very uncomfortable with. 

So he instructs Jason to carefully put the chain over his shoulder so it won't get in the way of carrying Damian out of here. Once they're out of this stinking hell hole, they can figure out how to get it off him. For now, all Dick can allow himself to worry about is walking out the cell and up the stairs. 

Damian hisses with every step Dick takes and Dick's mouth feels dry with apologies by the time he finally reaches the top of the stairs into the moonlight shining through the curtains. Red and Blue lights are flashing outside, and there are forms of black standing outside the doorway, signifying the battle is over. Blackbat has her arms crossed around her chest tightly, looking ready to flee. Red Robin is pointingly not looking at Dick and his burden, but towards Batman who steps forward without a second to waste. 

Dick doesn't know why, but he holds Damian closer and turns in a way that Bruce can't take him out of his arms. 

Bruce's jaw twitches, and Tim sucks in a sharp breath behind him.

"I'm…" Dick says, feeling like he's going to throw up. "I'm taking him to the hospital."

He doesn't know where that came from, but now that he's said it he realizes that he will fight Bruce tooth and nail if he has to.

Alfred can't handle this. Leslie can't handle this. Damian needs _help_ , and secret identities be damned. 

The air in the room grows colder than that cell, and he's glad Damian is too tired and out of it to even have his eyes open for this. Dick swallows, and watches Bruce, daring him to say anything different.

Because Bruce may be Damian's biological father, but everyone in this room knows Dick was Damian's dad _first_. 

And it's then that Dick realizes a full ten seconds has passed and the most Bruce has done was watch him with his lips downturn more than what Dick has seen in a while. The meaning of that hits Dick like a truck, almost making him physically stumble. 

Bruce isn't arguing. His disagreement is shown in his lips, but he isn't arguing. He's letting Dick choose. Letting Dick decide if he's going to go through with that or give in and let them stuff Damian into the batmobile so Alfred or Leslie can take care of him. 

And it's terrifying.

He looks down at Damian, the blood running down his forehead, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He looks Bruce in the eyes, then, without another moment to waste so he cannot second guess himself like what Bruce perhaps is trying to make him do, he turns heel and rushes as carefully and as quickly as he can over to the front door—the sound of swears sounding behind him, but no one chasing. He kicks the already cracked door open and emerges into the world, the flashing lights and sirens and yelling voices of officers washing over him like a bucket of cold water. 

"I need help over here!" He screams, before his head can disagree with his heart and have him turn around back inside. Instantly, he's surrounded by a crowd of people; officers asking if there are more hostages, agents demanding to know details about the family they're arresting, but Dick ignores them all until men and women in white paramedic suits manage to shoo the officers away and whisk Dick and his load towards one of their ambulances. 

Everything passes in a blur now, like the world turned into one giant rain-swept window—sounds becoming nothing more than thunder in the distance, sights nothing more than colors flashing through drops of water. 

Somehow, Damian ends up leaving his arms to lie on a cot on his side as the paramedics begin to quickly and expertly load him into the back of the ambulance… and somehow Dick ended up seperated in the confusion, blocked from Damian with a wall of first responders and watching helplessly as his Robin was being taken away from him for the second time. It was like a sick song, something everyone had memorized. If a bat came out of a building with someone injured in their arms, the injured would be taken and loaded and brought to the hospital while the bat moved on to other things.

Not this time. Dick cannot let it happen this time. Damian isn't some same-old hostage from a same-old rescue. He'd rather die than step back and let Damian out of his sight for another second. 

"Wait," he calls, his voice sounding stuck in his throat. Damian is in the ambulance now, eyes half lidded and terrified looking, spasming in the straps gently holding him down. He surges forward and grabs the door of the ambulance before it can close all the way. "Wait!"

"Sir," one of the paramedics says, holding the door in a firm grasp as the others begin to attach things to Damian, making the boy whimper and flinch. Dick's stomach rolls. "Please step back so we can-"

"Take me with you," Dick insists, and when confusion and hesitation flashes in the paramedics' eyes, Dick continues. "Please, he's my-" _partner, heir, ~~son~~_ \- "baby brother. You- you have to let me come."

Shock flashes through the paramedic's face and another one in the back almost drops a tool. Dick takes their shock as an opportunity to push past the doors into the ambulance to end up near Damian's head. The boy is blinking wildly, weakly tugging on the already very loose straps keeping him stable on the gurney. There's moisture in his eyes and Dick has to clear his throat so he doesn't choke up.

The paramedics apparently all decide he can stay, or they decide they don't care, because a moment later the engine of the ambulance is roaring to life, motion rolling in the compartment, making Dick place his hand on the wall to stabilize himself. The distant and muffled sound of sirens begins, and he knows that there's no turning back now. 

Dick bends and puts his hand gently in Damian's hair, and instantly, the boy stills, blinking furiously. His eyes are bloodshot and a little foggy, it must be difficult for him to see. "I'm here," Dick says softly as chaos reigns supreme around them. "I'm still here, I'm not leaving you."

"Grayson…" Damian mumbles and Dick smiles.

"You're going to be okay, Dames."

Damian shakes his head. "No. No… hospitals."

Dick huffs, the protest neither surprising nor unsurprising. It just _was_. And he should have expected it, just like how after Damian is finally out of his cuffs and safely bandaged in a hospital bed, he needs to expect further protest. He keeps his smile on his face—it feels fake and plastic, like skin covered in a thin layer of wax—but he keeps it regardless as he reaches forward and cards his hand through Damian's too long hair. It's always been shaved short, thin and prickly on the sides and a few inches longer and a few degrees fluffier at the top of his head when he didn't slick it back with that expensive, vegan friendly, gel he forces everyone to buy for him. Dick doesn't know what makes other brands not friendly, but honestly Damian could tell him he needs a natural golden rose and Dick would scavenge the whole world for it. 

He runs his fingers through his hair, hair that's too long, hair that's greasy and tangled, hair that's hiding small cuts and bumps around the roots. Two weeks. His hair is proof enough that two weeks was too long and too lonely and too scary. 

"You have a baby mullet," Dick says instead of addressing Damian's earlier statement. Damian's face scrunches up in disdain and something genuine settles in Dick's heart. "Really following in my footsteps, kiddo."

"Unacceptable," Damian rasps, and he opens his mouth to say something more but then he flinches full-body as something loud and metallic makes a boom on the compartment. Dick flinches too, because seeing his baby brother scared like a mouse and also because he almost completely forgot there were other people in the car with him. 

He glares upwards to see the paramedics working on moving Damian's hands from behind his back, one of them putting a bolt cutter off to the side. Dick isn't sure what surprises him more, the idea that Gotham medical workers are so used to shit like this that they keep bolt-cutters in their ambulances or the fact that neither he nor Damian noticed them doing anything in the first place. 

Dick's forced to step back as a body shoves itself between him and Damian with a timid yet determined _sorry_ and Dick watches as Damian is maneuvered to his back, cuffed and blistered hands at his side looking so much worse in the light. He hopes there won't be any long lasting damage or scars. He isn't sure if he believes in a god, but Dick finds himself backing up even further to allow the paramedics to do their work, his throat tight, and praying for everything to be okay. It's all he can do to be in Damian's line of sight, but that also gives him the perfect view of Damian grinding his teeth, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. 

"No… no hospitals," Damian repeats quietly. Dick isn't sure if it's to the paramedics, to Dick, or to himself, but Dick puts his hand on Damian's foot—the closest thing of his brother now that Dick's been pushed so far back—and squeezes in the most reassuring way he can. 

"Let me worry about that, babywing."

Damian doesn't respond, just whimpers as more things begin to be attached to him. Temporary tubes and sensors Dick knows will be traded out for slightly more permanent versions once they're at the hospital. Dick grinds his teeth when Damian lets out a fearful cry when a hand gets too close to his neck, but whatever they're pumping into Damian now is making the boy too lethargic to do much about it. 

Then, Damian loses the fight against whatever sedatives he's being put under. It's like a massive weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment Damian's pained and scared facial expressions relax, but to see his brother so still adds a different kind of weight directly into his chest. 

Two weeks. Two weeks, he hasn't seen his brother, and now he's sitting here after having barely fifteen minutes of reunion just to watch him get knocked unconscious by drugs on the way to the hospital—after an executive decision Dick made despite the coming hellfire of questions the nurses and doctors and everyone who even sees Dick and Damian in this process will have. One thing's for sure, the whole secret identity thing is about to get a whole lot more complicated. 

His hands unconsciously grasp a little tighter onto Damian. Not enough to hurt but enough to make him feel a little more secure that the younger boy is still here and real and alive. Hurt. But alive. Compromised, scared, bleeding, traumatized, _alive_. Dick forces himself to believe everything will be okay. Doctors have strict privacy policies for their patients and despite the bad rep the media gives Bats', the common citizen is more likely to be supportive of their mysterious nighttime vigilante than you'd think. Who knows, maybe this whole thing will get a few more "Leslie Thomkins's" on their side.

Who's he kidding. Doctors aren't exactly known for _always_ being honest. Especially in Gotham.

The next time he sees Bruce, the man might just break his no-kill rule. 

"Hey," a voice says, accompanying a hand gently landing on his own; the one holding onto Damian's foot. Dick blinks, exiting his strange jumble of thoughts to look at the paramedic that's gained his attention. "You did the right thing."

Dick swallows and looks back at Damian. His stomach twists and it's not because the ambulance made a turn. 

"I really hope so," he whispers in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Probs won't continue, but you know, things could happen. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! And if you didn't, then eh. I had fun writing it and that's what truly matters. (✿^‿^)


End file.
